Midnight Consolation
by KitCat Italica
Summary: Mother knows best. Baby!fic, with all the fluff and feels you'd expect.


Midnight Consolation

Squirming on his back, he attempts to find some sleep. It eludes him. He still has a bit of restless energy from the day, so the soft blankets aren't having their usual effect. Some food wouldn't go amiss, either. Some warm milk, of course. Yes, that would be nice.

But mostly, he just wants to be held. He's lonely.

So he communicates all this in the only way he knows how: he screws up his face till it's red, scrunches his limbs in close to his body, and starts to cry. Well, wail is more like it. He has to make it loud and harsh, or else Mother or one of the several Not-Mothers might not come. But so far in his short little life, whoever ends up coming will take care of this. He just needs to cry, and someone will respond in due time. Even a Not-Mother can attend to his needs more than adequately.

Of course, he has a preference of who he wants to come comfort him. And fortunately, this time he gets his wish. In no time at all, he hears the door open, sees the dim lights flicker into illumination. _About time you showed up. Can't you see I need something here?_

Then the switch of relief is activated in his tiny brain, as three sensations greet him all at once. Warm, familiar hands are lifting him up. Mother's face is above him. And that voice he adores above all others is crooning sweet nothings, all directed at him.

"What is it, my little lad? What's gotten into you? Shhshshsh, whatever's the matter?"

It's all very well and good, especially when he's held close and starts being bounced in Mother's arms. But soothing as it is, he decides to keep crying, so Mother won't leave anytime soon. He likes this, and doesn't want to risk ending it just because he stopped demanding with enough urgency.

So after the bouncing calms him a bit, he amps up his cries again. They're jarring and cringe-worthy, sure to clench around Mother's heart and ensure some quality time together. And in his experience, time spent with Mother is the best time in the world.

Mother is cupping the back of his little head, holding him close to a warm chest. "What's wrong, my dear? Do you just want your mama? Hm? Is that it?"

Of course, he doesn't understand the words' content – though he feels a rush of recognition at the word 'mama'. But if he did, he would have been satisfied at Mother's perceptiveness at his cries. Mother knows what he's after, in a way only a mother can tell.

He's moving then, as Mother carries him over to the nursery's velvety armchair. When they're both at rest, Mother in the chair, him in Mother's arms, he softens his cries a bit. Mother is getting comfortable in the chair, which means they'll have this moment for a while. _Success._

Mother lets him curl up close, and he instinctively bunches his fist in shirt fabric to hold himself closer. He's mewling and whimpering now, and Mother soothes them all away with subtle rocking, gentle caresses, soft kisses, sweet words.

"I've got you, my darling. You just settle down with Mama, hm? Mama's here…that's right, there you go, hush your crying now…Mama's here…"

He nuzzles against Mother's shirt, searching for even more comfort. Mother responds to his cue, unlacing the shirt halfway and lifting out a breast for him. He leans into the soft warmth of Mother's skin against his own. Mother's heartbeat is so close here, beating with a steady lull that's so familiar to him. The calm rise and fall of Mother's breathing presses against his face, a sensation which contents them both.

He makes a small coo against Mother's skin and starts to root for the nipple. Mother guides him to it, holding the back of his head to clutch him close as he latches on. He's not particularly hungry, but nursing serves more purpose than that.

He starts to suckle, drinking in Mother's generous offering of milk. He's so content to do this that he lets the rest of his body go slack while he feeds. There is no greater moment of security than when he nurses from Mother.

Mother starts patting his side a little, and shifts a bit in the armchair. He detaches from the nipple at the movement, and makes a few soft vocalizations at the loss. Mother can't be leaving, not yet!

But Mother is just settling into the chair again, getting more comfortable. He's held close to the breast soon enough. "I'm sorry, baby," he hears as Mother strokes his thin hair. "Don't you worry, I'm not going anywhere. Mama's staying right here with you."

The next few minutes are still, filled with nothing but his sucking noises and Mother's soft stroking of his head. Then, Mother begins to quietly hum a tune he'd even hear in the womb. It's slow and rhythmic, lilting and gentle. Mother ends it with a tender kiss to his brow.

It isn't long before he releases from the nipple; he's now decidedly full in a warm, lazy daze. Mother reaches a towel kept draped over the back of the chair, and wipes away the excess shine of milk and drool around his mouth. "Look at you, with your little milk moustache," Mother coos at him. "What a messy little boy!"

He looks at Mother's face so close to his own, the familiar face so lit up with warmth and tenderness. "Do I have a messy little boy? Huh? Are you my messy little boy?" He gives a smile, rewarding the attentions and encouraging more. Mother laughs, and nuzzles their noses together. "Mama's little messy boy!" He laughs too. Right now, his existence is filled with nothing but happiness.

Mother kisses his forehead again, and lifts him over a towel-draped shoulder for burping. After a minute, he feels the air escape his throat with a few light hiccups. Mother is rubbing his back then, and he leans against the towel, nearly drifting asleep.

"Mama loves you," he hears on the edges of consciousness. "Mama loves his little one…yes he does…"

He falls asleep against Loki's shoulder, not even aware of when his mother places him back in his cradle. Loki tucks the blankets around his son, and presses one more kiss to his brow. "Goodnight, my little Narfi," he whispers, before he quietly douses the lights and slips out of the room, to rejoin Thor in their bedchambers.

* * *

A/N: So…I'm falling in love with Thorki!mpreg? And mama!Loki? I guess I'm of the opinion that, while Thor's love can do him a ton of good, if Loki were directly responsible for a new life of his own creation, who depends on him almost exclusively for survival and affection, it might make him realize that there's more to life than his own pain. And by focusing on not screwing up something undeniably good that he's made, it can help him subconsciously cope a little with his entrenched wounds. Not completely, of course, but I think it would help.

*And I'm not saying Thor is the father, either, or if there even is one. But I would think that Thor would help Loki raise his son and be Papa regardless. It's up to you, dear readers! And don't forget to review! Much love :D


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